The Last Guardian Read Online Free PDF Page B

alchemical laboratories. Yes, you’ll do nicely. You see, I know the meaning of your name just as you know mine.
    Moroes!”
    “Here, sir,” said the servant, suddenly manifesting out of the shadows. Despite himself, Khadgar jumped.
    “Take the lad down to his quarters and make sure he eats something. It’s been a long day for him.”
    “Of course, sir,” said Moroes.
    “One question, Master,” said Khadgar, catching himself. “I mean, Lord Magus, sir.”
    “Call me Medivh for now. I also answer to Keeper of Secrets and a few other names, not all of them known.”
    “What do you mean when you say you know my name?” asked Khadgar.
    Medivh smiled, and the rooms suddenly seemed warm and cozy again. “You don’t speak dwarven,” he observed.
    Khadgar shook his head.
    “My name means ‘Keeper of Secrets’ in High Elven. Your name means ‘Trust’ in the old dwarven language. So I will hold you to your name, young Khadgar. Young Trust.”

    Moroes saw the young man to his quarters halfway down the tower, explaining in that ghostly, definitive voice as he shuffled down the stairs. Meals in Medivh’s Tower were simple fare—porridge and sausages for breakfast, a cold lunch, and a large, hearty dinner, usually a stew or a roast served with vegetables.
    Cook would retire after the evening meals, but there were always leftovers in the cold room.
    Medivh kept hours that could be charitably described as “erratic” and Moroes and Cook had long since learned how to accommodate him with a minimal amount of hardship on their parts.
    Moroes informed young Khadgar that, as an assistant instead of a servant, he would not have that luxury. He would be expected to be available to help the master mage whenever he deemed necessary.
    “I’d expect that, as an apprentice,” said Khadgar.
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    Moroes turned in midstep (they were walking along an upper gallery overlooking what seemed to be a reception hall or ballroom). “Not an apprentice yet, Lad,” wheezed Moroes. “Not by half.”
    “But Medivh said…”
    “You could sort out the library,” said Moroes. “Assistant work, not apprentice’s. Others have been assistants. None became apprentices.”
    Khadgar’s brow furrowed, and he felt the warmth of a blush on his face. He had not expected there to be a levelbefore apprentice in the mage’s hierarchy. “How long before…”
    “Couldn’t say, really,” gasped the servant. “None have ever made it that far.”
    Khadgar thought of two questions at once, hesitated, then asked, “How many other ‘assistants’
    have there been?”
    Moroes looked out over the gallery railing, and his eyes grew unfocused. Khadgar wondered if the servant was thinking or had been derailed by the question. The gallery below was sparsely furnished with a heavy central table and chairs. It was surprisingly uncluttered, and Khadgar surmised that Medivh did not hold many banquets.
    “Dozens,” said Moroes at last. “At least. Most of them from Azeroth. An elfling. No, two elflings.
    You’re the first from the Kirin Tor.”
    “Dozens,” repeated Khadgar, his heart sinking as he wondered how many times Medivh had welcomed a young would-be mage into his service.
    He asked the other question. “How long did they last?”
    Moroes snorted this time, and said, “Days. Sometimes hours. One elf didn’t even make it up the tower stairs.” He tapped the blinders at the side of his wizened head. “Theysee things, you know.”
    Khadgar thought of the figure at the main gate and just nodded.
    At last they arrived at Khadgar’s quarters, in a side passage not far from the banquet hall. “Tidy yourself up,” said Moroes, handing Khadgar the lantern. “The jakes is at the end of the hall.
    There’s a pot beneath the bed. Come down to the kitchen. Cook will have something warm for you.”
    Khadgar’s room was a narrow wedge of the tower, more suitable to the contemplations of a cloistered monk than a mage. A narrow bed along one